


Regret

by rei_c



Series: Knowledge 'Verse [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Incest, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-06
Updated: 2007-06-06
Packaged: 2020-09-02 08:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20272735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: "The first tattoo I got," Sam says. "It was at a place called Gehenna."





	Regret

"Gehenna," Sam says. 

Dean turns, looks at his brother, who's sitting on his side of the bed, knees tucked up under his chin, curled small for such a large man. Sam's hands are fiddling with something, and when Dean squints, he can make out the edges of a silver disc, small, the size of the charms still on Dean's necklace. Sam had taken this one out of a drawer before they left the townhouse in Savannah, has kept it in his pocket or his hands ever since. Dean hasn't asked what it's for. 

"Hell?" Dean asks. "Dude, I know this motel isn't the best ever, but it's not _that_ bad." He bites back the urge to snark, to snap; they've been in the car all day and they're heading to see their father. Dean's not exactly looking forward to the meeting, doesn't know what's going to happen, but Sam has to be feeling worse, has been quiet and withdrawn since they left Savannah, so Dean can be generous and allow Sam to bitch. He can. "Also, we aren't Jewish," Dean adds. "At least, I don’t think we are."

Sam smiles at that, and Dean congratulates himself. He might not know the person his brother's become -- _doesn't_ and can't, not with everything that's happened, not with everything he needs to learn about the vodou, the loa, his brother's role in this -- but he can still make Sam smile. 

He ignores, for now, the shadow behind Sam's smile, his own constant fear that maybe Sam will leave again, unspoken promises and spoken understandings aside. Lakwa helped Dean before, but Sam belongs to the Petro now more than ever. Dean doesn't know if Sam could hide completely from the other loa or not, but he doesn't want to find out the hard way. 

"The first tattoo I got," Sam says. "It was at a place called Gehenna. Lakwa's mark, in the centre of my chest." 

Sam's not looking at him, but Dean can still read the hesitation in his brother's eyes, hesitation and something deeper, like regret, though Dean doesn’t want to think about where that might have come from. Dean crosses the room, sits down on the bed, pushes and prods Sam until his brother's leaning back against the headboard, eyes dark and unreadable. Dean pushes up Sam's shirt, traces his fingers over the bone on Sam's chest, at the base of his sternum, feeling Sam shiver under his nails. 

"Why Lakwa?" Dean finally asks, looking at Sam's eyes, the way they flicker and seem to swim before turning away. He wonders, idly, if the loa are the ones pushing Sam to tell him, but he decides that they aren't, that this is Sam and all Sam. The look in Sam's eyes, it won't go away, but it doesn't mean that one of the others is doing the talking for Sam, not when this sounds like Sam, feels like Sam. 

One day, he'll ask about that, how he can be so sure, how he can know the difference so clearly. One day. Not now. Not yet.

Sam swallows, reaches up and curls his hand around Dean's, slides fingers together and holds Dean's hand. Sam's warm, bordering on fever-hot. "Lakwa was the first to talk to me," Sam says. "He explained what was going on." Sam pauses, adds, "He was the first to ride me. It felt." He stops, searches for words, finally says, "It felt like it fit. Like he fit."

Out of all the loa he's met, Dean's relieved to know Lakwa was the first. Scary son of a bitch when he has to be, Dean's convinced, remembers the chill of seeing broken rum bottles, smelling stale cigar smoke, but better Lakwa than one of the Petro right away, better than any of Erzulie's faces, if that meant it took longer for Marinette to get her sights set on Sam. 

"The first night you were at the cafe," Dean says, remembering what Pierre had said, about Sam being ridden, all those damned loa and not one vévé to help. "Who else was there?"

"A few of the other guédé, Ati, of course, and Damballah. Marinette was there that night," Sam says, and Dean's heart stops. "She was kind," he adds, haltingly. 

Dean frowns, says, "Kind," like he can't believe it. He doesn't. Nothing about Marinette had seemed _kind_ to him. Vicious, vengeful, deserving of what had happened to her, yes, but not kind. 

"She rode me more than once at the beginning," Sam admits, tense now under Dean's touch. "That first night and for a few weeks after, while I was getting used to the loa." He stops, takes a breath, as if this is hard to say. "Before Erzulie. But when 'Zulie came, she just _fit_ so much better, and Marinette hated that. Hated me. Marinette went away, pouted for a while, and didn't come back until after we'd formed the trinity, until I became the _poto mitan_ in action as well as name. She wanted to be my first, the first loa of the _poto mitan_, but there was no room for her by that point and I chose Lakwa instead. Marinette didn’t take it well."

"The unwilling riders, invading other territories, she was doing all of it out of _spite_? Playing the scorned lover?" Dean asks, quietly, because the bitch loa used him to kill, tried to use him to kill Sam, and he'll never spare any emotion for her other than hate. 

But Sam, Sam sounds sad, almost, and Dean wonders if his brother even knows that he's grieving. The Petro do, maybe. Maybe that's part of the reason they clouded Sam's mind, had him forget about what happened in Mississippi but not about Dean, because it wasn't Dean that Sam was missing as much as it was Marinette. 

"Maybe," Sam says, but Dean hears '_yes_'. Sam looks back at him, and Dean's lips part, his frown gets soothed away into recognition. Sam's eyes are shimmering, but it's from pain, not the loa. "I tried, and I'd always hoped she'd," Sam starts to say, but Dean stops him, moves the two of them so that they're laying down, Sam's face pressed against Dean's skin, Sam's fingers digging in and marking a place on Dean's ribs and hips as if he’s trying to anchor himself to the present, to Dean, to what they have, together. 

Dean's beginning to realise that there's more to this story than he knows, just like he's beginning to realise that maybe Sam hasn't changed as much as he’d thought.


End file.
